RICHARD THOMPSON - Hippies, Thugs And Heroes

Every time my gaze catches a photo or image of Richard Thompson, my mind is instantly catapulted into smoky English pubs where, out of nowhere, the most listless and worse-for-wear of the regulars pulls a guitar out of the darkness and leaves everyone present breathless. Maybe it's my reaction to the splendid, yet little known outside Britain's borders, body of work of a musician who is without doubt one of the last living legends. Don't call it folk-rock: the former Fairport Convention guitarist is, at most, the spiritual father of a new folk liturgy — pagan, irreverent, eccentric yet solemn, one that has crossed six decades without ever giving in to routine or the lure of success, thanks to a string of masterpieces and perhaps lesser works that are nonetheless always impeccable in their intoxicating blend of catchy riffs, impossible chords and dense, strikingly forward-looking spiritual lyrics.

History hasn't fully honoured Richard Thompson's artistic stature, but thanks to the new album “Hippies, Thugs And Heroes” the time has come to revisit, with memory but also with heart and mind, one of the most intense and important chapters in rock music. “We felt different, not special,” Richard recalls, thinking back on the time spent alongside Joe Boyd, Nick Drake and John Martyn. “None of them sold many records in their lifetime, but people keep discovering them today. This album is my last attempt to sell a few copies.” In truth, this may well be our last chance to appreciate a genuine great (the musician has hinted at a possible retirement from recording).
It's no secret that the English guitarist has turned down tempting offers in the past, from Linda Ronstadt to the Animals and even The Band; offers sent back out of loyalty to his fellow travellers. If there's one thing Richard will ever admit to regretting, it's not having forged even stronger bonds with the musicians he met along his long journey.

Right, true, we were supposed to talk about the new album. Careful, though, because the protagonists of Richard Thompson's songs are neither the on the road heroes of the American dream, nor yet another introverted, doom-laden clone of the old – and not only old – folk singers. These are tales of lonely, troublesome, prickly people, knowingly unlucky, grappling with everyday dilemmas and lofty philosophical digressions on the life that never was.
Having shed the comfortable aesthetic of some recent efforts and kept at bay the self-satisfied musings typical of musicians nearing eighty (he turned 77 this past April), Richard Thompson unleashes a set of songs that are harsh, macabre, vigorous and irreverent, confirming himself as one of the most untameable free spirits around.
Bassist Taras Prodaniuk, drummer Michael Jerome, guitarist and violinist David Mansfield, and the backing vocals of his wife Zara Phillips are once again entrusted with bringing to life the many souls of a splendid album, without doubt among the finest of the musician's long career.

With a sly, knowing air, Richard Thompson strikes up a folk-rock with instant appeal that wouldn't have looked out of place on a britpop album (“Sorcerer's Apprentice”), twists the knife into the leftovers of hippie culture with a brazen seventies-style folk-rock-blues (“Cocaine Walking, Booze Talking”), and then pulls yet another funereal tale out of the memory book, recounting impossible loves and the loneliness made of poverty and pain of a homeless man found dead of cold by the side of a back road, in the splendid and anguished “Pauper's Grave”. The immediate, dazzling guitar work of “Unsung Hero” not only captivates through a melody as simple as it is deft, but once again keeps the focus on the unlucky, the losers, the victims of a society that always punishes those at the bottom. On “She Burns It All” the musician returns to one of the recurring themes of his songs, another sad story of mental illness and abandonment, the fruit of the many visits Richard pays to psychiatric wards; the multi-voiced dialogue is like a sacred mantra, propped up by just a few blunt guitar chords.

The sarcastic “Everybody's Stealing”, with its pub and music-hall tones, calls out the ever-present swindling soul of white-collar workers. The solemn tone of the horns, meanwhile, is entrusted with the album's tenderest moment, “Make Believe You Don't Know Me”, one of two songs – the other being the lonely, melancholy “The Soul In Me” – where the writer speaks of shared feelings and impossible relationships with a poetic style that never gives in to cliché or commonplace.

Driven by a constant stream of inspiration, “Hippies, Thugs And Heroes” delivers thrills right up to the last second, at times taming melancholy with the grace of acoustic folk (“Pipe Dream”), at others venturing into britpop territory with restless, elegant chamber-pop and indie-folk textures (“The Big Smoke”), before settling into one of those tipsy folk-rock songs that have defined his brilliant career (“Stringer”). “Solo l’amore mi tiene qui, e l’amore è l’unica cosa che conta”: these are the few simple, direct words Richard Thompson leaves us with as the album closes (“Siren”). A request that, placed at the end of a record steeped in pain, resilience and shattered hopes, doesn't sound like surrender; on the contrary, it's the powerful statement of an artist who has always held consistency dear, never disowning his past, and who has handed his audience a record with all the hallmarks of yet another essential classic.

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23/10/2026